I Watch Him
by rose.tinted.lies
Summary: I watch him...The hell he goes through each day is nearly unbearable ... Oneshot. Child Abuse and Neglect.


I watch him, day by day, night after night. He knows that I'm watching him. He speaks words of comfort, assuring me over and over that he will be okay, that he's been worse. But he knows I don't believe him. _He's been worse. _What does that even mean anymore? Does he even know? I don't think so.

It's obvious that even he doesn't believe the words coming out of his own mouth. He needs help, comfort and love. And he knows it. He won't speak the words of truth out loud, that would make him weak. Or so he thinks.

I know people would help him if they knew. All the people he thinks about daily, who he dreams will come and rescue him from this hell. If only he would reach out, then they _would _come to help him.I know they would. They would be here in a heartbeat if they knew the suffering the small boy was going through.

But he won't tell them. He's too scared. He's scared of what will happen, he's scared of what his family would do to him, and he's scared that if he tells, people won't believe him. He's scared that the people he loves and trusts will turn their backs on him. After all – that's all he knows.

If only he would let down the walls he's built around himself, to protect himself from those he loves. If only he would realise they love him back, that they would never mistreat him like his family has done.

I want to help him. To reassure him that he can get help. I want to love him, and let him be loved. I want him to know it's okay to need help from someone outside this house. I want to let him know he needs to reach out to somebody. He needs to ask for assistance before something happens that he can't reverse. He needs to want to help himself.

I know he thinks he's not worth people's worry. He thinks he's lower than their love and support. If only he knew that he is worth it all, and more. But he's been taught by his relatives that he is lower then dirt. That he is not worth care, concern and love. Oh, how I wish I could help him see that he is better than all of this.

He wouldn't let me help if I could. He would make me keep quiet; tell me not to tell a soul about all that I know he goes through. And I would have to swear to him that I wouldn't tell anyone, because I couldn't betray him. The boy is the only true friend I have ever known. All the time, he comforts me, speaks words of assurance and love to me. So I could not betray his trust.

But I wish I could make him see that this is not right. The way those people are treating him is not normal, not even close to normal. Normal people do not abuse their relatives. They do not leave their flesh and blood gasping for air, and crying in their sleep. Normal people do not scare their family into thinking they have no-one who loves them.

But he swallows their lies. He tells me he doesn't, that he just takes it all in stride. But I know he is lying. Little by little, each day, he believes them a little more. He is headed for a breakdown, that, I am sure of.

He is getting thin. The shadows underneath his eyes are growing at an alarming rate. His bones, when seen in the right light, jut out of his loose tee-shirts. I don't know how long it has been since he last ate, I'm worried about him. His skin is pale, his eyes have lost their spark. He has nightmares, the past plagues him in his dreams and the present plagues him in his waking state. I haven't seen him smile in what seems like ages. Sure, he puts on a half-hearted smile when assuring me that he is fine, but any fool could see that the smile has yet to reach his eyes.

He has rare moments of rest. I know he works himself to sheer exhaustion, just to escape his dreams. It sometimes works; he occasionally wakes up with a refreshed look, like he is prepared to face whatever horrors the day may bring. But those moments are of rarity.

I do everything I can to stop myself telling people about what my friend goes through each day. It's hard to contain the feeling of helplessness I feel when I see him lying in a pool of his own blood, struggling to breathe. He manages, though. He always manages to stay on top. I, personally, believe he just couldn't handle his betrayers thinking him weak.

I will for him to call for his godfather. He needs to be rescued; he won't survive for much longer, like this. He won't live to fifteen if he stays in this house, with the scum they call his family.

I've made up my mind. I'm going to tell somebody. I feel horrible, knowing that I am about to betray my friend's trust, but I can't stand to see him suffer any longer. I can't spend another night, watching as the poor boy struggles to stay alive, mentally and physically.

I'm leaving. I'll be back soon, my friend, my companion. I just hope that I am not speaking up too late.

XXX

_**Author's Note:**  
Hedwig's Point of View (POV)  
Edited: 10/05/07  
Reviews feed my dying muse ;-)  
_


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